The Last Stand of Daronwy

by Clint Talbert

  “I think that’s a great idea.”

  “Jeremy, there you are!”

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Did you find a book?”

  “Um… well, I found a bunch, but I don’t know which I can check out.”

  The librarian smiled. “You can check out any of those you have back on your table over there.” She looked over her spectacles at his mom. “You’ve got an ambitious young man here. He’s researching pollution.”

  His mom shrugged. “He’s a handful. I hope he wasn’t bothering you.”

  “Oh, not at all.”

  “Are you ready, Jeremy?”

  “Yes, ma’am, let me grab one of the books.”

  That evening he wrote a letter to the president, copying down several of the numbers that showed that the EPA was not doing enough. He asked President Reagan to make them work harder to clean up pollution all around the world, especially in southeast Texas. His mom wrote the address of the White House, he licked the stamp, and stuck it on the envelope. Jeremy grinned as she laid it with the bills to mail the next day. Among those printed envelopes, the letter felt genuine, hopeful.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The stifling heat shimmered through the suffocating humidity of the morning, pressing against Daniel and Jeremy’s sweat-soaked T-shirts. Daniel arced his arm back and threw the stick again into the heavy air while Jeremy held the end of the rope the stick was tied to. This time, it looped over the tree branch, catching in place.

  “Ha! Look at that.”

  “Good throw,” Jeremy said, pulling the rope to set it and swinging across the black water of Dry Creek.

  Daniel swung across after him. “Let’s play that we’re on a ship sailing out into Tamilik Bay to get the Stone that Rathian had dropped to the bottom of the ocean. And we are—it’s stuck.”

  “Here, you pull.” Jeremy shook the young tallow that held the stick while Daniel pulled the rope. The stick plummeted toward the black water, and they jumped backward to avoid the flying muck as it splashed down. Daniel laughed. Jeremy stared at the water, thinking of Travis. He wondered if this water was as bad as the water in the pond. Should he create the pollution club? Would it make a difference?

  “What are you thinking about?”

  Jeremy shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

  “You sure?”

  Jeremy coiled the rope over his arm and stared at the branch covered in black muck from the creek. He didn’t want to touch it. It smelled like car oil.

  “Okay… So we’re on a ship, sailing into Tamilik Bay and Kronshar has four ships right behind us,” said Daniel.

  “Can you hit those ships with a fireball, Lightningbolt?”

  “No, they’re still too far away. Let’s play that Rathian is using a telescope to see if we’re in the right place. He’s measuring our distance from a purple mountain on the shore, but we’re not quite there.”

  “Okay,” Jeremy said. None of this matters, he thought. Nothing he did would change anything. Jeremy wiped the stick on the needles and stared at the water.

  “Eaglewing, what is it? Do you see something in the water?”

  “What do you think of a pollution club?”

  Daniel stopped walking up the trail and came back to stand next to his friend. “Huh?”

  “A pollution club. We pick up trash and stuff, out by Highway 408.”

  Daniel cocked his head, crossing his arms. “That doesn’t sound like fun.”

  “It needs to be done.”

  “Shouldn’t the garbage men do that? Isn’t that what they’re for?”

  Jeremy shrugged. “I guess, but I was thinking that if we did it, we could turn in the cans for money.”

  “Who’s going to buy a bunch of trashy cans from the side of the road?”

  “Recycling people buy them. They make new cans out of them.”

  “Huh. How much would we get?”

  Jeremy shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe five dollars?”

  “Let’s do it! You want to go do it now?”

  Jeremy’s eyebrows rose at Daniel’s sudden enthusiasm. “Sure.”

  They wandered back to the street. Daniel continued talking about how the ship was being attacked by riders on dragons and how he fended them off with a magic shield. They took two trash bags from Jeremy’s house and marched out to the small two-lane blacktop highway that ran behind their neighborhood. Trash hid in the knee-high grass along the road like multicolored wild animals.

  Daniel bent over to pick up another can. “It’s hot.”

  Heat radiated off the blacktop. Here, away from the darkness of Helter Skelter, the full hundred degrees of summer beat down without a shred of mercy. Jeremy’s clothes dripped, saturated with sweat. Each time he bent to grab a flattened cigarette pack, a crushed Styrofoam cup, or the occasional can, sweat stung his eyes.

  Daniel stretched, bending backwards. “It’s too hot to do this right now. And my back hurts.”

  Air danced and shimmered over the highway. Black bubbles of tar boiled up between the pieces of gravel in the roadbed. “Yeah. We need something to pick up the trash with, too.”

  “Yeah. Let’s go back to your house.”

  As they turned, Daniel tried to pull Jeremy into the game. “So there are three dragons. The one that you shot with the arrow is in the water, and it came up underneath the ship. Niritan is still trying to raise the Stone, but the dragon is trying to pull the ship apart with its forepaws and tail.”

  Jeremy wiped sweat from his eyes. He didn’t have the energy to act it out. “Then the tail should be wrapped around the main mast. Rathian and I would have to slide over and chop it.”

  “And as you do that, I go unconscious from holding these shields for so long.”

  “And the other two dragons swoop in and hit the prow of the ship with their tails.”

  “Prow?”

  “The front. The ship is shattered and the whole thing turns like this.” Jeremy held his left hand straight up and down.

  “But then Niritan has the Stone and teleports us, ship and all, to someplace safe.”

  They were at his house. “We need to separate out the trash from the cans.”

  “I only picked up cans in my bag.”

  “You’re supposed to pick up everything.”

  “Some of that stuff was gross and soggy.”

  Jeremy sighed and reached into the steaming depths of his trash bag. He pulled out cans one by one and dropped them into the bag Daniel held open. When he was finished, his hands reeked. He washed them twice in the garage. “Let’s go inside. We can play on the computer.”

  Daniel nodded. “Can we play your necromancer game?”

  The Pollution Club flag took shape on a white piece of poster board: a simple red circle cut by a red line, rectangular gray trash cans inside the circle, and the words “Pollution Club” scrawled across the top in an arc. Daniel was on his way down. It was the first real meeting of the Pollution Club. As Jeremy carried the sign to the garage to glue it to a stick, he found his dad in the kitchen. “Daniel and I are going to go pick up trash on Highway 408, is that okay?”

  “Sure, but be careful of the cars.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you still need something to pick up trash with?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Let’s see what we can do. Get yourself some trash bags.” Jeremy put down the sign and dug under the sink for two trash bags. Remembering last time, he grabbed two more.

  Dad hammered nails into the ends of the two weathered one-by-twos Jeremy had intended to use for the flagpoles. Intrigued, he watched his dad as Daniel walked into the garage.

  “Hey there, Daniel. Y’all goin’ to pick up trash on the highway?”

  “Yes, sir.”


  “Y’all watch out for cars, okay?”

  “Yes, sir.” Daniel turned to Jeremy. “Is Mira coming?”

  “No, her mom says she has gymnastics practice.”

  “Okay, y’all stand back.” His dad started the grinder whirring. With an even hand, he lowered the nail toward the spinning grindstone. The head of the nail disappeared in a shower of orange sparks. It looked like Lightningbolt’s magic. His dad handed the two spears to the transfixed boys. “There you are. Now, be careful with those. The ends are sharp.”

  Jeremy smiled. A trash spear was far better than a flag. “Thanks, Dad!”

  They wandered out with the bags, armed with their spears. The wet summer air coiled around them like a soggy beach towel; their shirts stuck to their skin before they finished walking the block to the highway. Air still shimmered and danced over the blacktop, but a slight breeze made it cooler than it had been during their first attempt. Daniel started first, spearing a Bud Light can and putting it in his bag. Jeremy found a Lone Star and speared it, but when he went to put it in, stale beer trickled out of it.

  “Whoa, they didn’t even finish their beer! Look!”

  “Yeah, that one I just found had stuff in it too. Weird, huh?”

  Daniel moved farther and farther ahead of Jeremy. Cigarette packs and paper remained after Daniel made his pass. “Daniel, you have to pick up all the trash, not just the cans.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “That’s what the second trash bag is for. Cans in one, other stuff in the other.”

  They worked up the far side of the road as far as it seemed prudent, and then they started back down their side of the highway. Exactly one car passed the entire time. Daniel kept just spearing cans. Jeremy wiped the sweat out of his eyes, wondering what to say to him. He had just reached the clean gravel clearing where four mobile homes lived, abutting the canal embankment. With nothing to pick up, he could catch Daniel.

  A blue Malibu swerved out of their neighborhood onto the highway, tires squealing, heading right at them. The car accelerated. People inside were shouting. Daniel stared at it, transfixed.

  “Daniel!”

  The car righted, just missing Daniel. A glass bottle flew out of the open window, tumbling end over end in the air. Daniel dodged at the last second, flinching from the car, and the bottle shattered at his feet. Jeremy sprinted to his friend, grabbing his arms. “Are you okay?”

  “They’re turning around!”

  The Malibu made a wide U-turn, engine roaring through the overgrown grass a half-mile up the highway. “Run!”

  Daniel didn’t need to be told. He dropped everything and bolted through the mobile home park. Jeremy dropped his bag, but kept his trash spear. They ducked through the mobile homes and hid along the edge of the canal. They heard the car’s engine zoom past, thankful it didn’t stop.

  Cowering in a small clearing surrounded by honeysuckle and blackberry, they strained their ears as sweat dripped off their limbs. Beyond the eternal hum of mosquitoes and the occasional frog, there was nothing. Finally, Daniel spoke in a tiny whisper. “Do you think they are coming back?”

  Jeremy shrugged. “I don’t know. Did you see who it was?”

  Daniel shook his head. His cheeks were pale. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead. Clothes stuck to their bodies, and the weight of the sunlight pressed them into the grass. They needed to get home.

  “Let me go get the bags and we’ll go home. You keep this.” Jeremy pressed his trash spear into Daniel’s hands.

  Daniel made a slight nod.

  Jeremy left the clearing and crept to the edge of the mobile home closest to the road, peering beneath it. The road was clear. In a mad sprint, he dashed to the dropped bags, scooped all four up in one hand and threw them over his back. He grabbed Daniel’s spear with his other hand. With four bags of trash bouncing against his back, he ran back to Daniel. The trash spear cut one of the bags open and a foul fluid ran down the back of Jeremy’s leg and into his left sock. He grimaced, shifting his feet. “You ready?”

  They followed the canal to Nevada Street. No cars, no sound of cars, so they walked around front rather than climb Jeremy’s fence and risk his dad’s anger. Paul, Daniel’s older brother, stood in the driveway, arms crossed.

  “Whatcha y’all doin’ up by 408?”

  Jeremy thought Paul wanted to join the Pollution Club. He grinned. “We’re in the Pollution Club. We’re picking up trash and recycling the cans for money. You can join and help us, if you want.”

  “You’re stupid.”

  Jeremy glanced from Paul to Daniel.

  Daniel’s eyes narrowed. “You threw that bottle at me.”

  Paul lunged. Before Jeremy could blink, Paul had two fistfuls of Daniel’s sweaty T-shirt. Daniel’s trash spear clattered to the concrete. “And if you ever tell Mom that I was in that car, you’ll regret it, I swear.”

  Jeremy dropped his bags, fingering his spear. He shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Let him go,” he muttered.

  “I won’t tell,” Daniel said.

  “Good.” Paul pushed Daniel and laughed. “Y’all are idiots. It’s not going to make any difference if you clean up one little highway. I’m gonna throw stuff at you every time I see you out there, just because I know you’re gonna pick it up. What retards.”

  Daniel walked under the tree in the front yard and sat down, staring after his brother. Jeremy wished he had done something. He put away the trash spears, added the cans to the bag they had started a few days ago, and threw away the bags of trash. He sat down next to Daniel. Neither said anything for a long moment. “I don’t know why he threw that bottle at you.”

  Daniel shrugged.

  “Do you want to go play?”

  “No, it’s too hot. I think I’m gonna go home and watch a movie.”

  Daniel refused to help pick up cans after that. He was always busy, or his mom wanted him to clean his room. Mira had left town with Kelly to visit their other dad. It was up to Jeremy, and Jeremy alone. He took his two trash bags, shouldered the spear, and set off to battle the heat and the rubbish.

  Part 3: summer

  Chapter Sixteen

  It took another week of sweating up and down the highway and saving every soda can his family drank for Jeremy to fill the bag. When it was full, Jeremy’s mom put it in the back of the truck and they drove to the recycling center in Orange. It was little more than a potholed dirt lot surrounded by rusting tractor trailers and tall weeds. A metal awning stood over part of the lot with a small shack tucked underneath.

  A hunched man stepped out of the shack as they climbed out of the truck. He took his baseball cap off, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and squinted at them. “Come on in under here.” He waved them under the awning. Jeremy’s mom pushed him forward with his bag of cans. “What do you have there, little man?”

  “Cans.”

  “Well, let’s see how much they weigh.”

  The man took the black bag, hung it from a hook suspended from the ceiling, and read the number off the dial.

  “About five-and-a-half pounds; we’ll call it that anyway, won’t we? At fifty-five cents a pound that comes to… three dollars and a quarter.” He nodded to himself. “Yep. Three twenty-five. I’ll get yer money. Thanks for the cans.” The man took down the bag and switched on a roaring machine. He dumped the contents of the bag into the machine and it crushed the cans, spitting them into the back of one of the rusted trailers, adding to an already massive pile inside it.

  Clutching his three crumpled dollars and dingy quarter, Jeremy returned to the truck. Three dollars and twenty-five cents. A dollar sixty-two if you divided it in half; virtually nothing. He had thought that if Daniel got five dollars from picking up the cans then he might be interested in joining the Pollution Club again. Jeremy mused that he might ha
ve two dollars saved from doing chores. He could give Daniel five and keep the quarter. Maybe that would work. Then they could split the money next time.

  “Jeremy?”

  He blinked. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “What are you going to do with your money?”

  He thought about telling her that he was going to give it to Daniel, but then thought better of it in case she disapproved. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, think about it. I’m proud that you’ve been picking up these cans, so you deserve to do something good with that money.”

  “Can I go play at Daniel’s when we get home?”

  “No, we’re going to Mommit’s for supper.”

  Jeremy turned his attention to the open pastures and dense forests along the highway, and the trash that lay in the ditches on either side of it. He would never be able to pick up the trash here—it was too far from home. But if he didn’t, who would? And what about the highways on the way to Grandma’s? Highways 87 and 73 were covered in trash too. Who would pick that up? Maybe Paul was right; picking up trash on one highway wouldn’t make any difference.

  Jeremy stood amid the tackle boxes, a basket of laundry, and a clutch of fishing poles in the McClain garage as he raised his fist to knock on the door. Should he give Daniel all the money? He hadn’t helped earn it. But, if he didn’t, then Daniel would never join the Pollution Club again. Mom and Dad would be angry, but only if they found out. Mrs. McClain saw him through the glass and opened the door.

  “Hello, Jeremy. Come on in.”

  “Hi, Mrs. McClain.”

  “It’s hot isn’t it? Do you need anything to drink? Daniel’s in his room.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Jeremy went to the door and before he knocked, Daniel flung it open. Jeremy walked into the small room. Most of the room was taken up by a heavy wooden entertainment center that Mr. McClain had built to house Daniel’s VCR, TV, and movies. Lions and tigers peaked out from pictures and in small figurines on high shelves.